


Letters to the Editor

by cgru



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: About as Much Violence and Horror as You'd Expect Considering the Source Material, Corruption, Eye, Mostly Canon Compliant, Multi, Original Fiction, Set in the TMA universe but doesn't interact with canon, gross stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25016821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cgru/pseuds/cgru
Summary: A series of correspondence to and from the editor of the Tinpine Journal, Sherry Carlyle. Also includes miscellaneous journals, letters, and other media surrounding the city of Tinpine and the mysteries therein.
Kudos: 1





	Letters to the Editor

I always had a problem with brushing my teeth. 

I know. It’s really not a hard thing to do. It only takes a couple minutes. And it’s not like I wanted to have to wear dentures when I’m old. It’s just… every time I thought about it, I was busy, so I’d tell myself I’d get to it later. I’d never had problems with bad breath, so by the time I’d gone to bed or I’d left for work, I figured it’s a lost cause. I ended up brushing my teeth only once or twice a week. They were a little green sometimes, but I wasn’t a big smiler. 

Of course, whenever I thought about it, I was ashamed. It was such an easy thing that I just kept skipping. I’d run my tongue along my teeth, feeling the plaque building up there like mold on bread, and shiver. 

I guess all this started several months ago. I’d had a crush on a guy, his name was Roland. I met him from work- I did online sales, pretty boring stuff. Maybe I’m a bit old to have crushes, but I’d always been a little anxious. Couldn’t work up the nerve to ask him out. He really was lovely. _He_ had an absolutely beautiful smile, you could see all the perfect teeth when he laughed. 

We were in the break room together, alone, and I was talking to him. Well, he was talking, really. I’m generally content to listen. Roland looked at me with a smile and asked me a question. I don’t remember what it was now, but I started to answer. I couldn’t help but smile too. It felt good to be talking to him like that, like we were the only people in the world. While I spoke, I saw his eyes glance over my mouth and look away. He didn’t give any other signs that he was grossed out, but I knew. I knew he’d seen them. The faint, green-yellow stains splashed across my teeth.

I’d made the decision right then. I’d brush my teeth every day, no matter what. I’m a big online shopper, so I figured I’d get a shiny new electric brush on the internet. I was looking at the selections on Amazon and I got an email. The subject line read “SMOOTH TEETH NOW”. Normally, I would never have looked at it, but it wasn’t marked as a promotion or spam or anything. It had the little arrow next to it that marked it as an “important” email. I went to the website it linked- it was _hflimitedsupply.com_ , if that matters. It seemed legitimate, if a little weird; they sold a huge variety of things with almost no connecting factors for prices that ranged from very low to absurdly high. The high-power electric toothbrush kit it was recommending me would normally have been worth upwards of 50 dollars, but it was only 7 on this website. Then there was a ratty-looking mass-produced teddy bear that was listed for nearly 1,500. But these oddities- they didn’t seem _supernaturally_ out of place, just the sort of strange that you might get if you looked at Wish or something. 

I don’t know if the fact that I was sent an email recommending toothbrushes, out of nowhere, exactly when I was looking for one even registered. It was cheap and I bought it, and it even felt kind of good. Like I was making a change in my life. And I wasn’t supporting Amazon. 

The package arrived quickly. I popped it open and excitedly inspected my purchase. It didn’t look _exactly_ how it was advertised, which I’d kind of expected for the price. It wasn’t a different style of toothbrush, though, and there weren’t any missing heads or chargers or anything. It was just the color. The soft plastic around the handle was a sort of pale green, like a medical apron. The package showed it as a dark blue, so I thought that it must be a manufacturing error. That’s how they were able to get the price so low, right? It was a reject. I placed it on the bathroom sink and went to bed, strangely eager to use it the following day. 

When I woke, I made my way to the bathroom. I hadn’t turned on the light yet. There was a little sun coming through the frosted window, and everything was cast in dark blue shadow. As I approached the sink, I saw that there was something in it. A wet lump. In the darkness, it reminded me of those sticky balls of hair that get stuck in the drain. It made me feel uneasy even before I knew what it was. When I turned on the light and could _really_ see it, I felt that tug in the pit of your stomach that you get when a bug lands on you. That sort of quiet panic. 

There was a slug inching its way towards the drain. It was huge and fat and it was a horrible green- like old infections. I wanted to get it away from me, even though I must have been a couple full feet from the sink. I was frozen there for a while, slugs are _slow_ after all, until it slipped down the drain with a wet sucking noise and disappeared. I stayed there for a few more seconds before I approached and looked down. There was still residue from its sluggish journey across the porcelain, a dark pus-green smear of grease that I swear bubbled as I stared at it. 

I turned on the water and washed it away. And I brushed my teeth. I tried not to think about the slug while I did it. Afterwards, I smiled broadly into the mirror, even though I felt a little ill. My teeth already looked better. 

I forgot about the slug pretty quickly. I didn’t realize how much of my self-confidence had come from anxiety about my teeth. I became a little more outgoing, I started going to office parties. I started seeing Roland, too. It was just one date, but I thought it had gone well. I didn’t need to say much, as always. Roland and his beautiful teeth did the talking. 

About a week after I started using the toothbrush, the slugs started coming up. 

It was really as easy as burping. They’re smooth and they’re already all lubed up. The first time it happened was at work. I was typing away and I felt a slick, repulsive sensation at the back of my throat. I started to get up. I wasn’t planning on throwing up at my desk, I thought I could at least get to the bathroom. But I felt it on my tongue faster than I expected. I gagged and opened my mouth. It slipped out slowly, long strands of mucus still connecting it to my mouth as it oozed onto my keyboard. Its little stalk eyes waved around in confusion as it wriggled off, staining the spacebar. I didn’t know what to do, but as much as this thing repelled me, I knew I couldn’t kill it. I could imagine its slippery fluids spewing out over my desk as I pressed down on it, and I couldn’t handle that. I picked it up, sheltering it in my hands, took the elevator all the way down to the lobby, and put it outside. As I left, I felt like the eyestalks were watching me go. 

They kept coming. Eventually, there were several a day, just dribbling out of my mouth at seemingly random intervals. I couldn’t go down to the lobby every day at work, so I started calling in sick. Eventually, I just let them crawl around once they left my mouth. It was a lot of effort to take them outside _every_ time, and once you get used to them, they’re quite charming. Once it was time for my second date with Roland, there must’ve been a hundred of them keeping me company while I watched Netflix in my room. They made everything nice and wet. My bed was soaked, so I could settle into it and wrap the slimy blankets around me like a cocoon. 

For Roland, I picked out one of my few dry outfits. I was so excited to see him. I hadn’t gotten to speak to anyone in a little while due to my break from work, so I was feeling a bit lonely, even with all the new additions to my household. Ro was pretty down to earth, so it was at his house. He said it was better than the theater, because we could watch movies together and talk without disturbing anyone. When I arrived, he opened the door with a smile. It fell away as he saw me, but I barely noticed. He was a sun in my eyes, and I was in orbit. 

I took a step into his home, taking a look around. He stepped away very slightly, wrinkling his nose. This I did notice. It made my heart do something funny; I really didn’t want to upset him. I asked Roland, “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he said in the sort of way people do when they lie. 

“It’s alright, what is it?” I took a tentative step towards him. 

“There’s just a… smell.” 

I was taken aback. I didn’t think I smelled like anything. I’d been brushing my teeth, you know. My heart was beating wildly in my chest and the edges of my mouth twitched. I could feel it bubbling up, so I instinctively held up a hand to catch it as it squeezed its way past my lips. Roland gasped and steadied himself on his couch. He looked like he was going to throw up. I wanted to make him feel better, to tell him it was okay, to wrap him up in my arms and hold him. I knew what to do. 

I gave him my brightest smile and held the slug out to him. It was a good one, round and plump and still dripping with wet cords of saliva. I thought he would like it. 

He hit my hand. I’ve never been more shocked by something in my life. The slug, the piece of me I had extended to the man I loved, was tossed aside like trash. It hit the wall with a _splat_ and slid down, twitching in pain. 

My mouth twitched. 

The eyestalk came through first, as wide as my arm and nearly as long as I am, focusing its gaze on Ro. 

I’ll spare you the gory details, Editor, but I think he gets it now. Even if his new form doesn’t allow him to talk to me, I can tell he loves me. Like all of them do. 

_\- With Love, Emmett Pent_

* * *

Well, Mr. Pent, this letter is definitely a lot to take in. It’s much too long to be posted in the paper, for one, and I think our readers would protest the content. Also, there’s no need to capitalize the ‘E’ in editor. I’m _an_ editor, I feed where I may, and I’d like to keep it that way. 

I do pity you, despite the pain you’ve almost certainly begun to cause post-transformation. You seem, or _seemed_ well-meaning, despite a distinct lack of hygiene. Given the inherent opposition in the powers we serve, I’m going to gently suggest you cease contacting me. I have no interest in getting wrapped up in rituals or wars. 

Thank you for your submission. 

_\- Sherry Carlyle, Editor of the Tinpine Journal_

* * *

**THE TINPINE JOURNAL - OBITUARIES**

**JAKE PIERCE**

Jake, 27, passed away unexpectedly this week on June 20th, 2019. He was a kind soul, known by many to tend to the gardens around the city center and the Liston Assisted Living building on his own merit. He had a positive impact on everyone who knew him and was always willing to lend a helping hand. He liked gardening, crafts, woodworking, and building, even constructing a beautiful cabin for himself and his girlfriend. In 2017, he graduated from Straub University in Klei, South Dakota with a bachelor’s degree in architecture. He will be greatly missed. 

Jake is survived by his parents, Lana and Nelson Pierce, his brother, Jayce Pierce, his girlfriend, Sara Lynch, and a great many community members. 

**JUST FOR KRIS MAYER:** You must be intrigued to see your name in the paper, Kris. You’ll think to yourself, “Why would there be a section dedicated only to me under Jake’s obituary listing?” Then you’re going to think, “How does it know what I’m thinking?” Then you’ll start to get a little afraid, but you won’t be able to stop reading. Of course, you can put down the paper at any time, but you wouldn’t. There has to be a reason there’s a section just for you, right? 

There is a reason. I have something important to tell you about Jake. Jake was your roommate for two years, during the time he was building the cabin. He had always been kind and respectful towards you, and you treated him the same. If anyone had asked, you would’ve told them he was your best friend, hands down. Some of your fondest memories were sitting down on the couch and playing Xbox with him, tossing good-natured insults back and forth as you mowed down rows of meaningless enemies in a meaningless game on some meaningless day. When you were depressed after the death of your grandmother, he comforted you. He bought you Chinese takeout and told you the hurt would go away eventually and you figured you owed him your life. 

But you never _really_ knew Jake. You think that you did, that there’s no one you knew better, but I’m afraid to tell you that you’re incorrect. You didn’t know that he collected your toenails. You clipped them onto the floor and vacuumed it up afterward, and while you were sleeping, he quietly removed the dust bag and used a tweezer to draw each and every one out. Jake Pierce collected them, put them together in a mason jar, and sometimes, he would sniff them. He would smile at you and know the exact scent of the heap of toenails placed carefully underneath his bed, and he would revel in the fact that you were blissfully unaware. You never knew. When you touched things that he had touched, a sick smile would bubble up inside him and threaten to split his face, because the hands that had stolen those little pieces of you had been where you placed your fingers. 

The mason jar is in his cabin, underneath the loose floorboard in the bathroom that creaks when you place your foot there. You’ll find lots of other jars. One of them is Sara’s. I’ll let you discover the rest. 

I suppose you never really know anybody.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If you're interested in seeing more, please leave a comment and let me know what you think.


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